What Revolution?
by EmperorArcana
Summary: In which England forgets... pretty much everything, Francis helps out much to Arthur's chagrin, America is disgruntled, but ends up wedging his self-proclaimed heroic self in there somehow. USUK eventually, one-sided FrUK for about two seconds.
1. I Write To You In Haste

_ Dearest Amerique,_

_ I write to inform you that our dear Angleterre has been... how you might say... suffering, as of late. Horribly, and it worries me. He has not eaten anything, and even refused tea when I offered. I write this to you in haste, so you must deal with my horribly sloppy printing. But ah, Amerique, if you could be so kind as to fly your way over here to Angleterre's house and perhaps find out what is wrong with him, that would earn you many thanks from moi. Oui, I do predict you will be here with all due speed, but you Americans can be quite the unpredictable creatures. I must sign off, as I hear Angleterre's footsteps and I fear he might find out of my writing to you for assistance._

_Au revoir,_

_ Francis_


	2. Who Are You?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia or its characters. If I did, I would not be writing this.

* * *

Alfred F. Jones raised a curious eyebrow as he re-read the letter in his hands. England? Suffering? From what, Alfred wondered. Francis was there for more than five minutes, so the situation had to be bad enough to the point where England didn't even have the motivation to throw the Frenchman out the door right away. Was it the apocalypse? Was Arthur's economy failing? America couldn't help but be incredibly curious of his friend's situation, and decided to take Francis up on his offer to fly to England's house. Placing the letter on the coffee table and bounding up the stairs to his bedroom, America packed his largest suitcase with clothes that would hold him over for a month. Heroes were never needed for more than a day, he knew, but he liked it where England lived and perhaps a vacation was best for him. With his economy being healed, he was feeling a bit better, but his people were continuously rejecting his boss. With a sigh, Alfred trudged back down the stairs and to his Ford Mustang, popped the trunk, and plopped his suitcase there with a satisfying thunk. He then situated himself in the front seat and began his drive to the D.C. Airport, jumping on the web with his Motorola Droid to book last-minute tickets to London.

The D.C. Airport Terminal was as crowded as ever, with shouts, cries, and curious calls flooding Alfred's ears. People pushed past him, jostling his luggage around a bit, but this was all normal for Alfred. It was what he went through every time he visited England. Park, check-in, get pushed, shoved, and yelled at. Then proceed to idle around the terminal until his flight was boarding, then board, proceed to be pushed and shoved _again_, and then finally nestle down in his first-class chair next to some crazy businessman. Said businessman would be rapidly slamming the keys of his laptop, fervently e-mailing another crazy businessman about what stocks to buy or sell that week. All of that bored Alfred, to be honest. He usually ended up watching a movie on his iPod, because karma hated him and never gave him the window seat. As much as he loved flying, it wasn't the same without the stunning view of the topography of the land below. Or, if he happened to book a plane at night, the view of the shimmering stars in the sky. Seven hours was a long, drawn-out wait; especially when you were sitting on a plane doing absolutely nothing except for deciding which movies still fit your taste. _This is all worth it,_ Alfred tells himself every time, _because I'll get to see what's up with England._

"Passengers, we are now landing in London Airport in the United Kingdom. Please fasten your seat belts and be sure to turn off all electronic devices…" Alfred obliged, putting his iPod away in his pocket. Glancing to his left, he noted that the businessman hadn't bothered to pay attention to the announcement and neglected to even _glance_ away from his computer screen. Alfred had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the man; honestly, what was five minutes of his time? Could he not type a simple "be right back" to whoever it was he was talking with? Sometimes, though Alfred would never admit it (he's a hero, after all) he did grow tired of watching his people's rude displacement. As the copilot called out signals for the first and coach classes to disembark, Alfred stood and thanked the pilot for the excellent, turbulence-free flight, and hurried down to the baggage claim. It wasn't as if he feared that he wouldn't be able to find his luggage. Hell no, his bag was adorned with more than 20 American Flag stickers, and had a 'Hero' keychain linked to the handle. If he couldn't find his bag, he needed his eyes checked. The reason why he wanted to hurry to the baggage claim was so he could get his hands on his bag _first_, and be able to hail a cab and get to Arthur's house as soon as possible. The letter Francis had written him was shoved hastily into his bomber jacket pocket, as he had almost left it on the coffee table. None of the events that happened following the receiving of that letter had been able to quell Alfred's anxiousness. What was wrong with England?

Alfred stumbled outside, breathing in the rainy air of London. Quickly hailing a cab, he tossed his bag into the trunk and slid into the backseat of the vehicle. Alfred recited England's address (it came naturally to him now, as he visited Arthur so many times before) and the cab sped off. On the way, Alfred stared absentmindedly at the usual London rains barrage the speeding taxi cab with somewhat tired eyes. In his rush to get out of the house, he'd left his coffee unattended, causing him to be quite drowsy. _Oh, well,_ Alfred reasoned in his mind, _Iggy always keeps extra coffee for my visits anyway_.

"Alright, here we are." The taxi driver announced in a heavy British accent. Alfred was knocked out of his trance, and thanked the driver, removing his bag from the trunk before making his way to the front door. Along the way, he noted that England's flower beds weren't as vibrant as they used to be. America's brow furrowed. England _always_ kept a close eye on his flowers; besides embroidery, it was another one of his feminine hobbies. Reaching the cherry wood door, Alfred raised his knuckles and rapped harshly. He heard a muffled "Coming!" from inside, and not soon after the door swung wide open to reveal an incredibly troubled-looking Francis. Which, in Alfred's eyes, was _not_ a pretty sight. His usually glossy hair was unruly and tangled, while his eyes showed dark circles, revealing a poor night's sleep. This was also proved in his attire– his vivid purple coat was rumpled and his capelet was off-center, indicating he had slept in it. Francis's red pants were wrinkled as well, and his French flag-styled house slippers weren't helping him look any more proper. Not to mention his stubble, which had now developed into a slight beard.

"Ah, Amerique! I was hoping you would arrive soon!" Francis greeted with a tired smile, stepping aside to allow Alfred to enter England's home. "I am afraid Angleterre has… fallen into a coma since I wrote to you, mon cher."

America watched as France's brows creased with concern as he looked toward England's living room. "He fell asleep on the couch, and no matter how hard I shook him, He just would not awaken."

"Is he still on the couch?" America inquired, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the matted blonde hair he knew so well.

"Non, I moved him to his own room. But I just cannot figure out what is wrong!" Francis cried, pulling his hair. "He hasn't spoken to me since I arrived this morning! And I only wanted to give Angleterre a pleasant visit…"

_I don't think any visit he gets from you is pleasant, Francis. _America thought. "Well, I'm gonna go see how Iggy's doing."

"Do not get your hopes up, mon cher," Francis warned, "it is not looking good for our dear Arthur."

_Would you quit using 'our dear'?_ America thought defensively, then stopped himself. _Why am I so defensive all of a sudden? I'm just concerned for a friend. It's not like I'm in love with him or anything._ Alfred continued on into England's house, knowing exactly which halls to take to reach England's room. The door was closed, but Alfred paid no mind to it and pushed it open, inwardly wincing at the creak it made. The inside of England's room was just how Alfred remembered it– antique wooden furniture, with a twin-sized bed squished into the far right corner of the room. The blanket had the pattern of the Union Jack, and Alfred could see that Francis had bundled England up under the covers. In order to actually peek at Arthur's face, America had to practically stand right next to the Englishman. Upon seeing his face, Alfred's expression grew perplexed. He had seen England sleep before, but never had he seen Arthur's face so… _calm_ when he was asleep; usually Arthur's features would be twisted into a scowl or pressed with sadness. But today… they he looked at ease, as if nothing were bothering him. For some reason, this unnerved Alfred.

"When do you think he'll wake up?" America wondered with anxiety.

"I do not know, mon cher," France appeared at Alfred's side, placing a hand on his shoulder, "but all we can do now is wait, oui?"

America shrugged his hand away. "I guess."

So they waited. To Alfred, this was even more agonizing than the plane. This was simply because not only did he have to sit around and do nothing, but he had to sit around and do nothing while listening to Francis drone on about "our dear Angleterre." And aforementioned "Angleterre" could do nothing about it, because he was busy being damn near _comatose_ while Alfred hovered at his side. After about three hours or so, something inside Alfred snapped.

"...and oh, what if our dear Angleterre does not awaken? That would be the worst; there were so many things I could have done for him in that time…"

"France! What is going to be accomplished if we just sit here and do nothing?! This isn't the heroic thing to do! Heroes don't _mope_ and _worry_ about things that haven't happened! We have to _do_ something!"

It was at this precise moment when England's eyes fluttered open. Alfred and Francis immediately turned toward him. Arthur blinked a few times, fighting away the grogginess that was paired with first waking up. Sitting up in bed, Arthur stared to and fro from Alfred to Francis. Both of the nations waited with baited breath to see if he would, at last, speak.

"Okay, I know who _you_ are," England pointed to France, "but… who in the Queen's name are _you_?" He added, looking pointedly at Alfred.

America's eyes widened in shock. England didn't know who he was? But there were so many things that Alfred and Arthur had both been involved in throughout history. There were both World Wars, the Great Depression… even the Revolutionary War! How could it be that England forgot?

* * *

**A/N: **So, there we have it. First chapter of a new project that, for a change, I'm actually enjoying. This hasn't necessarily been completely looked over, so there might be a few errors. Alert me of them in a review if you see them! Speaking of, if you like the story, review. Feedback keeps me in check. If I'm ever OOC, review and let me know. Because if you don't I'll just keep ignorantly thinking that what I have is in character. Thanks for reading!


	3. Forgotten Means Forgotten

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers or any of the books mentioned. If I did, this fanfiction would not exist.

* * *

"Um. Excuse me?" Alfred inquired. He was dumbfounded, utterly shocked.

"I believe that's the question I should be asking _you_," Arthur raised an eyebrow, "who are you exactly and why are you here?"

Alfred had to blink a few times before responding. Was all of this real? "I'm… you don't know me? At all?"

Arthur's scowl only deepened. "If I knew, I wouldn't be asking, you nitwit."

"Right. Of course. I'm… Alfred. Alfred F. Jones. The United States of America?"

England's bushy brows furrowed as he grew silent for a moment. "Nope," He reasoned, "I don't remember you in the least."

Alfred tried to mask the fact that he was genuinely hurt. He had to keep telling himself that it would only be for a little while, that it would all be over soon. That it was all because England was groggy. However, no matter how many attempts he made at trying to convince himself that England _did_ remember who he was and that soon Arthur would be shouting at him to leave his room immediately, his brain would not accept. It would only accept the fact that England had lost his memory of almost all of the events that happened to him over the course of his history.

"You really don't remember? Not even…" Alfred paused, knowing that he could continue to have hope if England remembered _this_. "Not even the Revolutionary War?"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about? No, I don't remember any revolutions."

"But… but you have to!" America stood, his expression a blend of shock and hurt; France stepped forward to place his hands on Alfred's shoulders. "I rebelled against you, fought for freedom, and won. And you… you cried! You still do!"

The look Arthur returned to Alfred was one of pity and confusion. "I'm sorry, but I've never cried. Are you sure you have the right person?"

"If I were any more positive I'd be dead! How do you not remember?" Alfred's emotions and endless questions were beginning to make their way out of his mouth. "I was such a huge part of your history! You–– how could it be–"

"Amerique, Amerique," Francis soothed, leading him out of the room. "Don't overwhelm Angleterre, now. Just wait for me in the living room, d'accord?"

America bit his lower lip, deciding on whether to actually listen to France or to rush back into Arthur's room and try and convince him that yes, the Revolution actually happened. If the rest of his possible conversation with England was going to go how in the direction it was going before France led America away, Alfred did _not_ want to further speak with England. "Fine." he muttered, walking to the kitchen. Maybe some coffee would clear his mind.

Upon arriving in the kitchen, Alfred threw open the cupboards to find the assortment of his favorite coffee blends stored especially for his visits. Looking at all of the bags of coffee suddenly made Alfred feel sick. How could he be sitting here in England's kitchen, looking at something he knew England wouldn't have unless he'd met Alfred before, and know that just upstairs was a man who'd acted as if Alfred was a total stranger? Unable to look at the coffee any longer, Alfred closed that cupboard and opened the one next to it; the one that had all of England's favorite teas. Plucking Earl Grey off of the shelf, Alfred grabbed England's favorite mug from the mug rack and prepared himself some tea. He then proceeded to sit on England's favorite armchair in the living room, sipping the tea and waiting for Francis. Three steaming mugs of Earl Grey later, Francis plopped down on the couch across from Alfred.

"You look sad, mon cher," Francis rested his head in his palm, his voice melodramatic. "Why is that so?"

Alfred scowled at Francis over the rim of the mug of Earl Grey. "You'd be sad too if you were in my situation," he mused, then added quietly, "It just seems so unfair."

Francis smirked and Alfred swore he saw his eyes glint. "Ah, yes, how unfortunate. You miss him, don't you?" He asked.

Alfred stared into the tea mug as if it was the most interesting thing in history. "No, not really."

"Good, because it does not seem like he remembers much at all."

America looked up from the mug to meet France's eyes. "Really? How far does his memory go?"

"Well, I do not know exactly, mon cher, but," Francis sat back on the couch so he could cross his legs, placing his hands behind his head. "since our dear Angleterre does not remember you, we can be sure that he does not remember anything from the Seven Years' War and forward."

"How are we going to find out how far his memory goes exactly?"

"That, mon cher, is what I wanted to talk to you about," Francis rested his head in his palm once more, leaning on his knee. "I was thinking I call up the nations that took part in the wars before the Seven Years' War and see which he remembers and which ones he does not. Sounds good, oui?"

"Yeah. Sounds like a plan," America stated flatly. "So who's first?"

"Ah, I was thinking we first call up Spain. Might as well start form the beginning, and Angleterre's birth is simultaneous to the War of the Spanish Succession. To see if he remembers back that far, we'll call him up." Francis moved toward the phone, punching in numbers that Alfred assumed made up Spain's phone number.

-

Antonio sprang up from his seat on the couch to bound over to his house phone. He tried not to hope it was anyone in particular (when did Lovino ever call him, anyway?) as he picked up the receiver.

"Hola, you've reached la casa de España." He greeted cheerily.

"Bonjour, Antonio," Spain tried not to sigh in disappointment when he heard Francis's voice on the other end. "Could you do me a favor, mon cher?"

"Yeah, what do you need?"

"For you to fly over to Angleterre's house immediately. He's lost his memory and our dear Amerique is spiraling into a depression; Angleterre has no idea of his existence!"

In the background, Spain swore he heard a loud 'I am **not** depressed!'

"Oh, that's not good. Alright, I'll be there as soon as possible, Francis. Adios, amigo!" Spain hung up and stared at the phone. England lost all of his memory of America. Shouldn't France be _enjoying_ that?

-

America pulled his knees up to his chest, staring at the mug that was now half-full of cold tea in his hands. Spain still hadn't shown up, and Francis was spending all of his time with England. Alfred would be with them, but according to Francis, Arthur had specifically said to "keep that bloody stranger away from me." He didn't know what to do, honestly. There was nothing _to_ do, except for wait for France's Spanish comrade to show up. After that, Alfred would be forced to suffer through listening to the three men prattle on about old times. In a vain attempt to amuse himself, Alfred gazed at the bookshelf sitting across from him. He spotted titles like _Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_, _A Christmas Carol_, _A Tale of Two Cities_, and _The Catcher in the Rye_ lined along the walls. Alfred racked his memory banks, trying to remember the last time he had read one of those. _Oh,_ he thought glumly, _that was back when England used to read to me_. Why did everything have to remind him of England? The books, the furniture, the tea, even the goddamn _dust_ reminded America of his former mentor.

He heard the doorbell ring then, and decided to make himself useful by answering it.

"Hola, America!" Spain greeted, perpetually cheerful. Alfred put on a joyous smile.

"Hey, Spain! Come on inside. France and England are both in England's room." Alfred informed, motioning toward England's room.

"Gracias, amigo!" Spain called, as he was already halfway toward the Englishman's bedroom. Alfred followed, watching as Antonio reached Arthur's bedroom.

"Antonio, mon cher! Do come in," Francis greeted Antonio with a grope to his bottom, which Spain was completely oblivious to. Alfred stayed by the doorway, unseen by the three gentlemen in the bedroom.

"Angleterre! You remember Antonio, oui?" Francis asked in a tone of voice that one would use when addressing a six-year-old. Alfred watched as England squinted, and then nodded with recognition. The action made Alfred frustrated. England hardly ever talked to the Spaniard, at World Meetings or otherwise. Arthur had a higher chance of forgetting Antonio than forgetting Alfred, so why was it that England was talking casually with them as if they were old buddies and he was outside of the bedroom, a wallflower? And why did it seem like neither France nor Spain were doing anything to help England regain his memory of Alfred?

Alfred tuned in when he heard Arthur mention something about him.

"Why don't you bring the American fellow back in? He seemed awfully depressed before…"

"Non, that will not do. Amerique will only grow frustrated again, and he can get quite violent, you know." France explained. That comment almost threw Alfred over the edge. So he really could be talking to England right now? It was just that stupid Frenchman that was standing stubbornly in between them. Spain was probably there to be even more of a distraction to England, causing even less time for Alfred to possibly be convincing England that events from the Revolution and onward actually happened. America fled back to England's living room. He should have known that Spain and France would band together against Alfred. _If that's the way you're going to have it, Francis,_ Alfred thought bitterly, _then I'm going to have to come back with double the force._

_-_

"Hallo, you've reached the Haus von Preußen." Gilbert greeted, petting his tiny yellow chick with his index finger.

"Prussia? It's America."

"Oh, hey, Alfred. How can the Awesome Me spice up your life?"

"It's England. He's lost most of his memory. And France and Spain are going on about old times with him, and they're all completely disregarding my existence."

"And what, exactly, does the Awesome Me have to do with this?" Gilbert inquired, smirking. _England lost his memory of Alfred? France must be having a field day_, he thought in amusement.

"I was thinking that you could come over here and help distract Spain and France so I could talk to England–"

"Oh? You jealous?"

"N-no!" Came the nervous reply. "Why would I be jealous? I just want England's memory back, and the only way I can do that is with your help."

Gilbert pondered the request for a few moments, bandying his options back and forth in his mind. Face a depressed Francis, or a depressed Alfred? He never _really_ spoke to Alfred, so why should he bother helping him out? Sparking an idea, Gilbert voiced his response.

"Alright, I'll help you out. I'll be over there as fast as I can, since you probably can't live without my awesome for much longer. Auf Wiedersehen!"

-

Alfred remained in his curled-up position on the couch, a fresh mug of hot tea in his hands. He didn't know exactly why, but he couldn't get enough of the bittersweet liquid. _Prussia had better get here soon. I don't think I can take much more of their talking in the other room…_ Alfred thought miserably, trying (and failing) to tone out the sounds of conversation in England's bedroom.

"I can't believe you gits actually tried to off the balance of European powers." Alfred heard England say.

"Si, but that's all and done with, now," Spain replied; Alfred could just hear the smile on his face. "So many wars have come on gone since then, right, mi amigo?"

"Oui," Francis agreed. "I feel so old, talking about such distant times." America rolled his eyes.

"Hmm, must be painful, listening to all of them prattle on about old wars that are long gone, huh?" Prussia asked from right behind Alfred, causing him to practically jump out of his skin.

"Gilbert! When the hell did you get here?!" America hollered. "Did you even ring the doorbell?"

"Yeah, I did. France answered."

"Liar. The three of them have been in _that room_," America pointed to England's bedroom, "ever since Spain got here."

"Oh, keeping tabs on them, are you?" Gilbert sneered, grinning devilishly.

America's face reddened slightly. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Well, you could always do the awesome thing and intrude. You said you wanted to distract them, right?" Gilbert began to walk toward England's bedroom, bursting the door open. America looked on from the hall as all three heads turned to Prussia.

"Oh, it's you," England spoke first, nodding in recognition. "I fought against you in the War of the Austrian Succession."

"Good to hear you haven't forgotten the awesome me, Arthur!" Gilbert walked in the room triumphantly. "And man, that war was intense. I can't believe you fought on Austria's side. How un-awesome,"

Alfred could only watch as the four dove into yet another war talk. He sighed in frustration, heading to the living room once more to finish off his now cold tea. America should have known that it was a bad idea to try and get help from _Prussia_ of all people. He should have realized that Prussia, France, and Spain were all very close friends. Alfred placed the tea mug he'd been using in the sink, slowly heading back up the stairs in an attempt to get England's attention. About halfway up the stairs, he heard the four gentlemen conversing.

"Well, I've got two guest rooms, so that'll be alright with you, right?" America heard Arthur's voice ask.

"Si! That'll be excellent. Gracias, mi amigo!"

"Oui, I thank you as well, dear Angleterre," Francis purred, and Alfred swore he heard Francis drape his arm around England's shoulder.

"Well, the Awesome Me has awesome errands to get around to. I'll talk to you two later, and it's been nice catching up with you, Arthur. Try not to miss me!" Alfred scrambled back down the steps and tried to look casual in England's kitchen as Gilbert bounded down the stairs.

"He only remembers up to the War of the Austrian Succession," Gilbert informed. "So I wish you the best of luck trying to get the rest of his memory back. It's almost like he's in a trance. I wonder what can wake him up?" Prussia glanced at Alfred curiously. "Oh well, that's up to you to decide. See you, America."

"Yeah, see you." Alfred said distractedly. Now that Prussia had left and he now knew that France and Spain were spending the night in England's guest rooms, America had to worry about where he was sleeping. Dragging his feet on his way to the front door, Alfred grabbed his luggage as he made his way out of England's home, the cool night air nipping at his cheeks. The occasional breeze sliced through his bomber jacket and jabbed America's skin, causing him to shiver. Upon reaching his Mustang in the driveway, Alfred flung his bags into the backseat and sped off to the nearest hotel that he knew of. Stepping out in the parking lot of City Inn, Alfred trudged to the check-in desk, checking in and heading up to his room for the night. Upon entering, America looked around: it was a pretty average room. Double bed in the middle, TV across from that, a desk with a coffee brewer and a spot for a laptop adjacent to that. With a thud America's luggage landed next to the bed, and he fished out some pajamas to wear. He peeled off his bomber jacket and uniform and replaced them with the maroon flannel pajamas England had given him as a birthday gift two years ago. Crawling on top of the bed but refusing to climb under the covers, America leaned his back against the headboard and curled his knees up to his chest. _I seem to be using this position a lot lately_… he thought miserably, resting his forehead on his knees. He simply could not get England and his amnesia off of his mind. How could he make England remember the major events of his history? He was sure England had a photo album somewhere in his home. _Maybe I can just explain everything to him, right from the beginning. If I can snag him in a moment when he's not talking to stupid France or Spain… but what if I started explaining everything and he didn't remember? _America remained in his position, deep in thought. He looked up for a moment to glance at the clock; 2:12 AM. Alfred wasn't even tired.

It was going to be a long, sleepless night.

* * *

**A/N**: And so it continues.  
My goodness. I'm so mean to Alfred. I just like being mean to characters. XD Reviews are welcome. I'd like to know if I'm still in character. Also, I'd like to know if the languages translate properly.

Translation notes:  
la casa de España = House of Spain  
Haus von Preußen = House of Prussia  
Auf Wiedersehen = Goodbye


	4. Hero Has an Idea!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing Hetalia.

* * *

_Alfred felt his face being cupped in the hands of another, his chin being raised. Staring back at him was Arthur, his emerald eyes glinting with tears. From his kneeling position on the ground, all Alfred could do was stare back up at his former mentor with an expression that could only be described as sadness._

_ "I'm so sorry," Arthur whispered, his voice wavering. "How could I ever forget you?" He kneeled down next to Alfred and pulled him into a hug. Before he realized it, Alfred found his arms wrapped around the Englishman, his hands clutching fistfuls of England's shirt. "You're so important to me, I don't know how…"_

_ "It's okay." America assured, burying his face in England's chest. "As long as you remember me now, it's okay."_

_ England pulled apart from the hug to place his arms around Alfred's neck, pressing their foreheads together. "It must have been hell." Arthur's voice remained soft and surprisingly even as tears rolled gently down his cheeks._

_ "It was." America choked, finding himself on the verge of tears as well. "But it's okay now."_

_ Alfred leaned in, about to close the space between the two nations––_

America's awoke with a start, causing his head to hit the headboard of the hotel room bed. Reaching up to massage the spot which he hit, Alfred found his muscles sore. He then realized he had remained in the fetal position for the entire night. Stealing a glance at the mirror across from his position on the bed, Alfred discovered imprints from his pajamas left on his forehead. His hair was unruly and his cheeks were tinted pink. America sighed. _Why did it have to be a dream?_ Hauling himself off of the bed, Alfred ruffled through his luggage and pulled out dark denim jeans and a T-shirt that read, "Who's your hero?": the outfit he wore when he was feeling down. Once showered and clothed, Alfred walked over to the hotel window, shoving the curtains aside. Outside was the usual in London– overcast and drizzling.

Alfred frowned. He was moping. Heroes didn't mope, and he knew that! Alfred had to take his own advice: _do something_.

"But what?" America mumbled to himself. Sparking an idea, he grabbed his luggage and practically flew down to the check-out and lounge, where the computers were. Pulling up the internet browser, Alfred went straight to Google. What war did Prussia mention again? The War of Austrian Succession? America Googled just that, and looked at the Wikipedia article. Briefly skimming the article, Alfred glanced at the participants of the war. France, Spain, and Prussia had been no help; the first two were probably still talking about old wars at England's. There was no way he was going to go to Russia. _Stupid commie bastard. He'd probably try to take Iggy hostage._ His eyes glanced across a name, and something clicked in his mind._ He knows Iggy pretty well._ With a new goal in mind, Alfred checked out of the hotel officially and hailed a cab, sending a text message to a certain Nordic nation to meet at London's local diner.

Alfred loitered by the door to the diner, growing impatient in waiting for Berwald (who had mentioned he was bringing Tino along). _They don't live that far away, do they?_ Just as he was starting to wonder whether or not the two nations had fallen off the face of the planet, a cab pulled up to the curb, and Finland stepped out, followed by Sweden.

"Hello, America!" Finland greeted, cheerful as usual. "Were you waiting long?"

"It wasn't that bad of a wait," America lied, motioning for the trio to move inside. "Come on, let's head inside."

Once indoors and seated comfortably at their tables, the waitress stopped by and took their drink orders. She walked off, and the three experienced an uncomfortable silence before Finland spoke up.

"So, America, what brings us here? It's not every day that we get invited to go anywhere with you."

America rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. "Well, it's about England."

"Wh's wr'ng w't 'ngl'd?" Sweden muttered, seemingly taking interest in the conversation now.

"He, well, lost his memory. And he doesn't know anything past the War of Austrian Succession," America explained, watching as Finland's eyebrows raised and Sweden raised one in intrigue. "And since Sweden here was a part of the War of Austrian Succession I was thinking maybe you could help?"

Sweden took a moment to ponder when their drinks arrived. After they placed their orders, he spoke. "Th'r's not m'ch I c'n s'y 'b't th' tr'bl' y'r h'v'ng. M'yb' y' c'n go t' n'th'r nat'n 'nd f'nd s'm'th'n out fr'm th'm?"

"But who would I go to?" America wondered aloud.

"Well, don't just think about all the nations England used to interact with before the War of Austrian Succession ended, think of all the ones he used to interact with before his memory was lost! Maybe you can find something out by going to them." Finland suggested as the waitress arrived with their meals. "Well, that was fast."

"Yeah, that was. Usually London diners take a lot longer," America commented. "But you're right. Going to other nations might not be a bad idea. Where do you guys think I should start?"

"Maybe you can start with that one nation… what's his name… he looks kind of like you…"

"Oh, Mattie!" Alfred exclaimed. Leaving money for the bill on the table, he stood and marched off. "I have an idea now, thanks guys!"

"No problem! Good luck!" Finland called to America's fading figure.

Alfred rapped his knuckles on the door to Matthew's home in London. He knew that Canada– along with all of the other nations– would be in London right now, because the next UN Meeting was coming up soon. _I have until then to make Iggy remember everything._ He waited a few seconds, and impatiently raised his hand to knock on the door once more when it opened to reveal a shocked Canada.

"Alfred? What are you doing here?" The Canadian spoke softly, looking at his brother with curious eyes.

"It's Iggy!" Alfred exclaimed, pushing past the Canadian and into his home. "He lost his memory. He only remembers Spain, Prussia, France, Sweden, and that commie-bastard!" Alfred glanced at his brother, seeing him looking guilty of something. "What? Do you have something to do with this?"

"N-no, it wasn't me… it was Russia. We were playing a game of hockey, and––"

"What did that commie-bastard do to Iggy?!" Alfred demanded, drowning out the rest of Canada's explanation.

Matthew sighed. "I was just explaining that. Russia and I were playing a game of hockey, and England was our referee, and well, you know how Ivan and I are on the ice. We're rough. So Ivan accidentally slammed into Arthur, who in turn collapsed, completely knocked out…" Canada's snow-white polar bear, Kumajiro, padded up to him, and he stopped to scoop the bear into his arms. "So Ivan and I took him back to his house, and the doctor I called over said it would wear off before today…"

"And did you just leave Iggy there in his house the whole time, alone?!" Alfred wailed.

"No, I could never do that!" Matthew cried back softly. "I stayed with him, because he was basically asleep. And when he was awake, he seemed kind of dead. After a couple of days I had to return to my boss, though, so I called France to watch him."

"France? You picked _France?!_" America's eyes widened in shock. "Iggy could've been molested!"

Canada gave America a hard stare. "Alfred, I honestly doubt that would happen. France isn't like that."

"As far as you know!" America shouted. An uncomfortable silence was shared between the two North American brothers, and just as Alfred turned to leave, Matthew spoke up.

"You know, this whole scenario reminds me of Sleeping Beauty,"

"How do you figure **that** one out?"

"Well, the way England has been acting is peculiarly similar to the Sleeping Beauty princess, right? Somewhat of a trance, you know?"

Something sparked inside of America from hearing that explanation, and before Canada could even begin to offer a plausible solution, Alfred had already stormed out of the room.

-

Alfred hurried down the street, desperate to get back to England's house. He'd worked out the perfect plan by this point, and it was all thanks to Matthew. Since America knew his Disney movies, he knew the story of Sleeping Beauty nearly word-for-word– thus leading him to decide that in order to wake Arthur up from his trance of amnesia, America would have to kiss him. The very thought gave America nervous butterflies– how would England react? Would it even work? What if he pushed America away after regaining the memory he lost? Alfred pushed the negative thoughts out of his mind– a hero wasn't allowed to have doubts! If heroes doubted nothing would get done.

Reaching England's front lawn, America smiled slightly. This was going to be perfect, he could feel it. He didn't even bother to knock on his way in, as barging into Arthur's home felt like the best way to revisit old times. Alfred maneuvered his way around the corridors of England's age-old house, coming up on the original mahogany door that separated the American from Arthur's bedroom. Putting on his best heroic grin, America pushed the door open. When his eyes rested upon the scene at hand, his face instantly became stunned.

This was _not _what he was expecting.

The scene before America's eyes was appalling. Francis, whose arms were wrapped affectionately around England's back, was seemingly kissing the living daylights out of the poor Briton. Said British gentleman was using his hands to lean on the bed behind him, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and frustration. America continued to gape as England's expression lit up with realization, and was quickly replaced with an intense anger as the Englishman hastily pushed the Frenchman away.

"Angleterre~ but that was so enjoyable~" Francis complained, his face falling in disappointment.

"Put a sock in it, you bloody frog!" England shouted, his face bright red. He moved his gaze from Francis to Alfred, anger level only seeming to rise at the sight of his former colony. "Alfred, you stupid git, what are you doing standing there gaping like you used to when I told you I was going back to England?! Get out!" His gaze returned to Francis. "Both of you!"

America had to be pushed out of England's room by Francis, simply because his shock at the whole situation made his legs numb.

Once outside of England's house and standing on his front porch, Alfred finally regained his ability to speak.

"What _was_ that?" He asked, frowning slightly at Francis.

"I do not know, Amerique," Francis sighed in defeat. "I tried to seduce him, but as soon as I kissed him, Angleterre just pushed me away."

"I hope by 'seduce' you mean 'molest!' I think anyone in their right mind would've pushed you away, Francis."

"Non, non, Amerique, you do not understand," Francis attempted, waving his hands in front of him. "At first Angleterre was rather enjoying my treatment. I do not know what came over him…"

America snapped at his revelation. "Hey! This is what Mattie was talking about!"

"Quoi? What about mon petit Matthieu?"

"Mattie was saying how England was KO'd during his hockey game and he was acting like Sleeping Beauty," When Francis's expression remained perplexed, Alfred continued. "You know, Sleeping Beauty! The one who wouldn't wake up until Prince Charming kissed her?"

"Ah! I see. So my kissing Anglettere…"

"Woke him up from his amnesia, and that's why he pushed you away!" America finished, incredibly proud of himself for finding out the reason for England's sudden outburst.

"What do you suppose we do now, Amerique?" Francis wondered aloud, sitting on Arthur's front porch and resting his head in his palm.

Alfred rubbed his chin, thinking. "I think I should go back in and talk to him," He reasoned.

Francis simply shook his head. "_I_ think you're the last person Anglettere wants to see, mon cher."

America frowned in response. "Well _I_ think you're wrong. I'm the hero, I can fix anything!" With his last statement, America barged back into England's house.

_This cannot go well…_ Francis thought, standing up and moving away from Arthur's home. If things between the other two nations grew ugly, he didn't want to be blamed for anything.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm so mean to poor Alfred (that dream was so irrational, but that's how dreams are). And Francis is a jerk. XD; As always, reviews are appreciated and reprimands for being OOC are accepted. Just don't expect me to go back and fix it all. Typing like Sweden is frustrating. The whole "F'rg't m' v'w'ls" thing is annoying. And I also think I made him talk _too much_. Sweden doesn't seem like the type of person with that much input. But it works.

Thanks to anyone who adds this story to their favorites, or watches this story. X3 It's greatly appreciated.


	5. Memory Surge

**A/N:** HAHA! Finally, Marissa rises from the dead and brings you another shitty chapter! WOOO! -shot- I'm actually somewhat satisfied with this chapter, though. I can say I'm definitely more confident about it, because it's in Arthur's perspective. And I kind of roleplay as Arthur all the time, so it's easy for me to write his character out. (:  
However, I'm... er... not sure where _exactly_ to go from here. Because I'm a dumbass who doesn't plan her stories _at all_ so y'know, it's easy for me to get stuck. Like now. But I'll be working on it; my sister is in NY for 5 weeks and I kind of have nothing else interesting to do. |D Except Sunday, in which I'll be going to see Toy Story 3! Woot!  
I apologize if anything is horribly, horribly off. ;; This is my second APH fic, and it's the longest one so far. ^^;; Even though my chapters tend to be short. D:  
Gyah, maybe I should stop being afraid that no one will like it... ;;

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers at all. If I did, this sort of thing would be canon. And I know how much you all would hate that.

* * *

Arthur needed tea. Quickly. He also needed to collect himself. To try and imagine that what just happened didn't happen. There was_ no way_ he was just kissed by Francis, his arch nemesis. However, by the looks of the Frenchman walking away from England's property, Arthur would have to guess that yes, it did happen. Running a hand through his hair, Arthur looked in the mirror and attempted to gather his bearings. _What the bloody hell happened?_ He thought in frustration. Of course, he remembered it now– Arthur was in some sort of a trance before Francis kissed him. Suddenly, it was a wave of memories, some that made him want to shout in victory, others that made him want to collapse in a heap of tears. He was then suddenly _very_ aware of the Frenchman so happily snogging him, and the idiotic American gaping at the door. Had Alfred just walked in the room? Arthur didn't know. All he knew was that he currently had a headache that pounded at every area of his skull, like an incessant knocking that he wanted to stop.

Not only that, England could have sworn he heard the door to his room being pounded at that very moment.

"Iggy, if you don't open this door I'm going to have to break it down!" England almost groaned in frustration at the sound of America's voice.

"You bloody git, didn't I tell you to leave?" Arthur snapped.

"I brought tea. Your favorite!" America singsonged, blissfully ignoring the Englishman's previous comment.

Damn it. Arthur_ really_ couldn't say no to tea right now. Reluctantly opening the door, he glared at the American, who was holding a tray with two cups– one filled with tea, the other filled with what was most likely coffee. Heaving a sigh and stepping out of the way, he allowed Alfred to enter his room.

"Any particular reason for your sudden thoughtfulness?" Arthur asserted.

"The hero always has to check if the damsel in distress is okay!" Alfred smiled, cheerful as he placed the tray of tea on Arthur's nightstand, taking a cup and sitting on the bed. Arthur's scowl only deepened.

"I am not a bloody damsel in distress, you _buffoon_."

"Of course you are! You were Sleeping Beauty!"

"And how the _hell_ do you figure that out?"

"Well, look at it like this: You forgot about basically everything recent that happened to you over the course of history; it was like you were sleeping. France had to kiss you to 'wake you up', so to speak. Now, as the hero, it _was_ my job to wake you up again," Arthur noticed Alfred's cheeks grow slightly pink at his own explanation. "But Francis will pay for that one later."

Arthur grabbed the lone cup of tea and took a long drink out of it, allowing the slightly sweetened (just enough sugar– how did Alfred know?) liquid to soothe his insides. As he processed Alfred's explanation, he couldn't help but wonder. "I forgot _everything_?"

"Well, not _everything_, but it may as well have been! I mean, you even forgot the Revolution! How silly is that?"

"Awfully silly…" England spoke softly, looking out the rain-speckled window at the thought of that time in his history. It was a painful memory, definitely one of the ones that made him want to collapse in a heap of tears. When he tried to remember it all, though, many of the details seemed unclear.

The two were engulfed in an uncomfortable silence until America broke the mood by speaking again. _I'll be damned if that git ever stays quiet…_

"Oh, and that commie-bastard is going to pay, too! He's the one who rammed into you and knocked you out. Why _were_ you the referee for one of his games with Mattie, anyway?" He asked, his eyes looking somewhat fierce as he thought of revenge on Russia.

"My economy was lacking, and I needed a few extra dollars. I did get the paycheck, and, as advertised, the price was steep. It was a good offer."

America looked at England is utter shock. "Are you crazy, Iggy? This is Russia and Mattie we're talking about! _Russia and Mattie_, who are both fierce on the hockey field! And you were their ref for money?"

"I honestly don't see why the hell you care so bloody much, git," England retorted, his face tinting pink; he sipped his tea in an attempt to hide it. "It isn't as if I died out there. Just a memory lapse, is all."

America paused. England took this as defeat and resumed his gaze out the window. _He probably doesn't care at all,_ he thought to himself bitterly. _America's probably doing this for good record with the other nations. Git. Always helping whether we need it or not. I was just fine until he came along. Even if he hadn't, I'd be okay. I would most likely be enjoying tea and a good book right about now. At least I don't have to deal with Francis. _Arthur nearly shuddered at the thought. _Just the thing I need. And the git _kissed_ me, too; I probably won't hear the end of it at the World Meetings. Bloody hell, I would rather have _America_ kiss me; it might have been somewhat _enjoya_–_

England's eyes widened and he shook his head, banishing the mental image as his cheeks bloomed scarlet. His eye then caught Alfred staring at him with a dopey grin on his face.

"What in the bloody hell has you grinning like that over there?" Arthur asked, furrowing his brow. "Something on my face?"

Alfred's expression suddenly grew more alert. "No, no, there's nothing on your face, I swear!"

"Then what were you smirking at?"

"The thought of… epic revenge on Russia!" America seemed unsure; England smirked.

"You sound _awfully confident_ about that answer," Arthur remarked sarcastically. He was quite sick of Alfred beating around the bush all the time, calling claims of one thing but really thinking something else. He refused to believe the reason why, but he wanted to know what America was really thinking behind those sky blue eyes. He observed as Alfred's eyes widened slightly in shock, a flash of an expression that read 'of course he'd point it out', followed by him staring into his cup of coffee as if it was the most interesting thing in history. And… were his cheeks turning red? England could only imagine what was going on in Alfred's mind.

"I _am_ confident about my answer," Alfred replied, voice wavering just enough for England to catch it, still staring into the depths of his coffee.

"Really, now? Your composure gives off something entirely different."

"What is it saying, then?"

"That you're a bloody liar," Arthur assessed. "And, since you've decided to be so blatantly obvious about your fallacies, I'll ask again; what had you grinning?"

Alfred's blush intensified a bit as he cursed to himself. "It was nothing," he muttered.

Arthur huffed in frustration, setting his cup on the nightstand and moving to head downstairs to check on the rest of his house and perhaps get the mail.

But he was not on this track for long; as soon as he turned to leave the room, his eyes went wide with the same expression of realization he held when Francis snogged him. Arthur reached out to clutch the nearest object to prevent himself from collapsing as another wave of memories came crashing through his brain like a tidal wave. Everything he could ever imagine was resurfacing, such as the long-lost days when he was Alfred's caretaker.

_I'm so happy to see you, England!_

_ It's been a while since I've had your cooking~ I miss it!_

_ Is this for me? Thanks, England!_

How it had all come crashing down.

_I'm not a child!_

_ Nor your little brother!_

_ I'm independent!_

_**Say it, England!**_

He remembered it all too vividly, now. The fateful morning in July. It was pouring rain, and he was alone. Arthur was standing in front of Alfred and his makeshift military consisting of random civilians, all with practically no experience. Yet the famed, _undefeated_ British militia had fallen to them. Only Arthur remained; all of his support was gone. He remembered the rain feeling like it was piercing his skin, similar to how America's words were piercing his heart. He recalled charging at the younger nation in a final rush of energy.

_No, no! I won't allow it!_

He was foolish to believe that he could prevent America from getting what he wanted. After he'd charged, his bayonet stabbing into the butt of Alfred's musket, he had this realization. England sank to his knees, tossing his musket aside and burying his face in his hands.

_Damn it! Fool! You really think I could shoot you?_

Alfred's next words cut through England's heart like a dagger.

_ You used to be… so great…_

"Arthur?" America asked gingerly, subconsciously pulling the elder nation into a hug. "Arthur? What's wrong?" He got a choked sob in return; Arthur hadn't even realized when he'd started crying. His thoughts were swimming with even more recently unearthed memories. The War of 1812, and the foolish acts he'd taken. Other blunders he had made in the past. He remembered how he treated Canada, Hong Kong, and Seychelles in comparison to America. He spoiled and loved America with all he had, and he had received a revolt in return. England had a lingering feeling that he should have treated his other colonies as nicely as he had America. Maybe then, they wouldn't have been so _happy_ to be out of his hands.

Oh, how Arthur came to regret so much of what he had done. And now? He didn't even realize who he was clinging to so desperately. Was it Alfred? He thought so, but to be sure he lifted his head off of the chest of the person he had clung to. Blinking away a few tears to clear his vision, he saw that he was right– it was Alfred. Tired from the tears that still hadn't completely left, he sniffled, resting his head on Alfred's chest once more, still locked in an embrace.

"Arthur?" He heard Alfred ask.

"Hm?" He responded, his voice hardly there.

"Are you okay?"

"Do I _seem_ okay to you, git?" England asked, voice wavering.

"Wh-what happened?"

"A-another memory surge. This one held many details."

"About what?"

"Rain. Muskets. Regrets. _War_."

"O-oh… I… I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be; it was my own fault."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"You ask an awful lot of questions, do you know that?"

"Well, maybe next time I won't save you from certain unconsciousness– since you _were_ about to fall– and give you moral support."

At that, England realized that he had just been embracing America for the past 10 minutes or so. The thought made his cheeks bloom scarlet, but he made no action to move away from the American nation. He only slightly loosened his grip on the man.

"I was not about to _fall_, and I was p-plenty capable of recovering without your moral support."

He could almost _feel_ Alfred smirking. "Oh, could you, now? Then why are you still hugging me?" At that comment, England jumped away from Alfred.

"I-I didn't realize I was!"

"Mmhm, _suuure_. And for the record, you _were_ about to fall."

"I was _not_!"

"By the looks of how desperately you were reaching out for something, I'd say you were."

Arthur fumed, giving Alfred the best glare he could muster at the moment. "If you don't mind, I'll be going to check my mail."

Alfred's expression morphed into one of confusion. "You aren't going alone, are you?"

"Well I sure as hell wasn't planning on bringing _you_ along."

"I'm going with you!" Alfred declared, ignoring England's previous comment _again_. "You could have another memory surge, and then collapse in the street where a car could run you over and injure you again! As a hero, I refuse to allow that to happen!" With that, Alfred hooked arms with Arthur and looked down at the elder nation. "You ready to go?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and inwardly groaned. _Bloody __**hell**__. It's one thing to have this git around the house, but to have him __**escort**__ me everywhere? That's too much._

"I suppose…" He sighed as Alfred began to guide him down the stairs of his own house.


	6. Mail Call

**A/N: **Not sure how I feel about this one. XD I like it, but I kinda think a lot of it is filler. Oh, I am not making fun of England's boss by saying he's clueless/doesn't care; it's used later. Don't worry. I love you England, and your boss. ;;**  
**Also, sometimes I just think that this is interesting because I use such a variety of emphasis, and no other reason.  
Reviews totally welcome! I read every one! Though I don't reply to all of them. That's changing now, though. I'll try to reply to as many as I feel necessary. I can't promise much, though. ;; Anyway, enjoy this installment~**  
Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia. Or else this would be canon, and I know how you all would hate that. XD

* * *

Although he had an air of confidence, it would be a lie for Arthur to say that Alfred _wasn't_ concerned. Anyone who could read the atmosphere could tell you that. The American had let go of Arthur's arm (hesitantly; he even walked close behind in case Arthur fell again) and was now walking a few feet behind him. Here's what had Arthur _really_ shocked– the git was being _absolutely silent_. Aside from the sound of the nations' feet hitting the pavement, there was absolutely no noise. Arthur could even _feel_ Alfred staring at him with a worried look on his face.

"If you're so bloody _worried_ about me, why don't you just take your car back to the hotel, gather your things, and _live_ with me for the next few days?"

"Really, Iggy? You mean it?" Alfred responded excitedly.

Arthur's eyes grew wide as what he just said _really_ sunk in. "N-no, wait, Alfred, that was a rhetorical-"

"I'll be back in a flash!" Alfred rushed past England and hopped into his car, immediately zooming off and down the road. Much to Arthur's surprise, he was actually on the correct side of the street. He sighed.

"What did I get myself into?" England wondered aloud before opening his mailbox. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Jumping, he whirled around to become face-to-face with France.

"My, my, Angleterre, I was not expecting to find you out here. Are you well?" Francis asked with what looked like genuine concern, but Arthur knew better.

"I was _fine_ until I looked at _you_, you frog. Why the hell are you still here, anyway?"

"Still? Ah, Angleterre, you insult me so! You act as if I am _stalking_ you!"

"You have in the past, git, so why should I expect you to change?"

Francis clenched his chest in an overly-dramatic fashion. "Harsh words, my dear Arthur. But I am not here to argue with you. I have a simple question."

"Why should I answer anything _you_ have to ask?" Arthur retorted, grabbing his mail out of the box and closing it rather harshly.

"It is only for research, mon cher, so do not fret!"

"What _kind_ of research?" Arthur knew he was stepping into dangerous territory be asking this, but he figured he'd humor the Frenchman… for now.

"Only the best kind! It is research on _l'amour!_" France answered flamboyantly, pulling a rose from behind his back and holding it out toward Arthur. Arthur plucked it from the Frenchman's hands and tossed it aside, afterward proceeding to thwack the Frenchman on the head with his mail.

"Alright, if it'll make you _leave_ any faster, I'll bite."

Francis clapped in response. "Wonderful! I appreciate your cooperation. Now," Francis leaned on Arthur's mailbox, smirking. "You really love him, don't you?"

Arthur's eyes widened a bit as a blush formed on his cheeks. "Wh-what?"

"Does anyone in particular pop in your mind when I ask you that?"

"If you're thinking that I'm going to say _you_, then you're out of your bloody mind."

"Oh, so there _is_ someone?"

"N-no! I never said that!"

"Ah, but you implied that it wasn't me– does this mean there is someone else that appears in your mind when I ask you?"

Arthur's blush deepened. "N-not at all. Now if you'll _excuse_ me, I believe we're done here," England hurried back up the sidewalk and through the door of his home.

"If you say so, mon cher," Francis walked off in satisfaction.

_That bloody wine-bastard is messing with my head. I was not supposed to think of anyone. But that wouldn't explain why __**he**__ was the one I thought of. It's just because he's staying in my house for a few days. Yes, that's exactly it. I'm just nervous about having someone else live with me, is all. _Arthur shook off his remaining thoughts and sat down to sift through his mail. A few letters from his boss concerning the meeting tomorrow, a bill that belonged to the guy across the street, and a few too many advertisements for a free trip to Paris. Putting the bill on the coffee table and the ads in the trash, Arthur grabbed the letter from his boss again, a notepad in hand. He was just about to begin re-reading the letter when his phone started blaring.

"Hello, you've reached the Kirkland residence, Arthur speaking."

"Iggy! Hi! I'm almost back at your place. I picked up some dinner on the way, though, so don't bother cooking!"

"You little– what did you get?"

"That's a surprise. See you in a few minutes!" With that, Alfred hung up.

England sighed in frustration and moved back to his chair in the living room, picking up his boss's letter again. He skimmed it, noting that he was to talk about concerns with Greece's health, and the issue with BP. That, and he was to announce that he was switching over to the Euro permanently. _Sounds simple enough, _England thought. _But with the way our meetings go, this could take hours. _Just then, Arthur's front door burst open, a brightly smiling American in the doorway. In his hand was– Arthur should have figured– a McDonald's bag.

"Iggy, I'm back with some dinner!" Alfred announced, walking into the kitchen after closing the front door.

"Yes, I have _eyes_, Alfred." Arthur shot back, making his way to the kitchen. The two nations ate peacefully, for a while. But it didn't last long.

"You couldn't even bother to buy something _decent_?" Arthur remarked, scowling at the food.

"Well it's better than anything _you_ could create." Alfred countered.

"Excuse you? My cooking is delicious!"

"That… _stuff_ wouldn't know delicious if it looked it in the eye!"

"Are you implying my food has _eyes_?"

"And what if I am?"

"You prat! You loved my food when you were a kid!"

"I only said I liked it to make you happy!"

"Why did you lie? I would've accepted the fact that you didn't enjoy it!"

"You sure looked like you cared a lot back then, old man!"

Somewhere along the line, both Alfred and Arthur had finished their meals and were now simply bickering back and forth across the table.

"_Old man?_ You're not so young yourself!"

"I'm still _eons_ younger than _you!_"

"What about China? He's older than I am!"

"Don't bring him into this! At least he _acts_ young!"

"Are you saying I _act _older than my age?"

"You act like the grumpy old man who chases kids out of his yard!"

"Well _you_ act like the bratty kid that whines when he doesn't get what he wants!"

"_I have unpacking to do!_"

"_**Then unpack! You know where the guest room is!**_"

And so Alfred stood up, grabbed his luggage, and made his way to the guest room of Arthur's home. Arthur jumped when the door slammed. Still fuming, he tossed the excess garbage and grabbed the bill that was sent to his address and walked outside, ready to take the bill to the proper house. Walking down the pavement of his driveway, he allowed the cool air of the twilight to grace his surely flushed cheeks. _This is going to be a long visit. Why do we always have to argue? _Arthur wondered while crossing the street. _It usually ends up in the same way– one of us storming off, leaving the other to cool off. Usually _he's _the one to storm off, but I might as well utilize this opportunity to take this bill back to the right house. I swear, the mailmen these days are starting to get like the ones at America's place… _Before he realized it, Arthur was at the property of the bill's rightful owner. He decided to take the letter directly to the man's front door. It wasn't late and he had nothing better to do, so why not?

"Oh, hello, Arthur, what brings you here?" An older man, probably in his 40s, answered the door, wearing a casual-looking sweater and jeans.

"A portion of your mail was dropped off at my house," Arthur held out the bill, which the man took gratefully.

"Thanks so much! I haven't paid this bill in a few months!" The man laughed. "Thanks again, Arthur; I suppose I'll see you around?"

"Indeed you may. Have a nice night," Arthur said with a small wave.

"Same to you!" The man replied. As Arthur walked back down the front steps and onto the sidewalk, the man closed the door.

_To the humans, I'm just another one of them. They don't know what I am at all. But I might as well be human. I've got what many could call a job and go to occasional meetings. The only difference is that I live longer than they do. _Arthur sighed. _A __**lot**__ longer. Hm, perhaps I should apologize to Alfred for reacting so strongly. _He approached his front door and stepped inside, embracing the historic look of his household. Upon making his way to the guest room, he knocked on the door.

"Alfred?" He asked gingerly.

"_What?_" Came the sharp reply.

"I-I just wanted to apologize for overreacting. I really am an old man, I suppose," He added with a small chuckle. "I also wanted to let you know I appreciate you getting us dinner." Arthur did not know how Alfred would take all of this information in, but he was not willing to stick around and find out. He turned on his heel and traversed down the hall to his office. He didn't close the door all the way– he left it cracked just a bit. _I don't particularly care if the git accepts my apology, I just don't want it getting too hot in here, is all._ Arthur thought as he sat down at his desk chair, looking at the latest paperwork sent to him by his boss. There was plenty of paperwork, as usual, but one in particular caught his eye. It was tagged "Unimportant" by his boss, but based on the title, Arthur knew it was rather important at the moment.

_Unimportant - BP News_

_We're still working on finding some sort of solution to this oil thing. It'll probably take us a few more days, maybe even into the next month. Just tell America we're doing all we can and that we're trying hard, blah blah blah. You're good at this kind of stuff, so make up a good cover._

_Be sure to mention that we tried the huge cover-thing-whatever those science guys called it. It froze on the way down._

_So now we have expert scientists and engineers working on the issue. They should be able to come up with something._

_-Boss_

Arthur's eyebrows raised in shock. How could his boss not care about something so important to an ally of theirs? Especially when it had potential to affect even more people than it was affecting now?

"Does he know nothing?" Arthur mused to himself; he heard his door creak open at that moment. Swerving around in the chair, he saw Alfred– garbed in the most ridiculous hamburger pajamas he'd ever seen– poking his head in the door.

"Uh, hi, Arthur. Just um, saying goodnight and that I'm sorry too. For saying that your food sucks; I never really lied as a kid, my taste buds just kinda changed, you know? So um, yeah. Sorry, again. And… you should go to bed soon, too. It's late, and we've got a meeting tomorrow."

Arthur's eyes widened as pink tinted his cheeks. After clearing his throat, he replied, "Y-yes, you're right. Mind you, if you're not ready to go when I am, I'm not going to wait for you."

"Okay. I bet I'll be ready before you."

"I doubt that, Alfred."

"I don't. Goodnight, Iggy!" Alfred closed the door, heading off to sleep.

"…Goodnight, Alfred." Arthur sighed. _This is new. He hardly ever apologizes to me after an argument. _He looked at his paperwork, deciding that it could wait for tomorrow. He turned out the light and left his office, going to his room to catch some sleep as well.


	7. Argue, Argue

**A/N:** Holy shit. Is this really happening? Am I finally updating after all of these months? Yeah, I am. Wow. Sorry for the super-hiatus. I was struck with a horrible writer's block and a sudden urge to make a chapter long, but by the looks of this chapter it's no longer than any other one that I've posted. Oh, well. Hopefully it's not bad.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Or else I would have heavily parodized the French Revolution.

* * *

Alfred lazily opened his eyes and blinked away some of the remaining drowsiness. He sat up, glanced around, and immediately reached for his glasses on the nightstand beside the guest room bed. What was a hero without his glasses? Unluckily for Alfred, he went to grope around for them, but he felt nothing. Panicked, he leaned in closer to the nightstand. Still no glasses. At this point, Alfred stood up and stumbled around the room, opening drawers and doors, but not finding his glasses. He did, however, manage to take a shower and get in some decent clothing. _I did say I was going to be ready before Iggy. It's only… _Alfred leaned in toward the clock on the nightstand. _About 6:30 in the morning. He wouldn't be ready to leave yet, right? The meeting doesn't start until 8 and it only takes 10 minutes to get to the building from here… _America shook his head– now was _not_ the time to be thinking about beating Arthur to getting ready. He had to find his glasses. Alfred continued to rummage through his belongings, finally spotting his spectacles perched atop his suitcase. _Right in plain sight… but I swear that's not where they were before._ He thought, placing the specs on his face and transforming the world into a clear landscape instead of a bundle of blurs. Feeling satisfied, he walked down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Upon his arrival in the kitchen, he spotted Arthur, looking completely ready to go. He was sitting in a chair at a table for four, sipping tea casually. The Brit smirked as he glanced in Alfred's direction.

"I knew I'd be ready before you."

"I definitely would've been ready if I had found my glasses sooner!" Alfred declared.

"You say that, but you were sleeping not 10 minutes ago."

"And how did you know that?"

Alfred watched as Arthur's cheeks reddened. "I-I walked past the room and the door was shut. I could hear you snoring."

"The hero doesn't snore! You probably walked in to check on me." Alfred remarked, looking smug.

Arthur spluttered. "I-I did _not _go into your room to _check_ on you."

"Then why are you blushing?"

"I'm not blushing, it's hot in your house!"

"You're just saying that because you're a cold-hearted Brit~!"

"_I am not __**cold-hearted**__!_ Who was it that left me when they were a colony?"

"I wasn't being cold-hearted then, I was being rational!"

"Rational? Did you ever think how broken-hearted you'd left me? I _loved_ you, you git!"

Alfred paused in the argument and watched as Arthur's eyes widened in shock.

"L-loved you like a brother, th-that is. Let's not waste any more time. We'll be late for the meeting. When you're ready, I'll be in the car. I'll drive us." With that, Arthur turned abruptly on his heel and sped out of his house, closing the door firmly. Alfred let the last few words sink in, but over it all he could only think one thing: _Didn't Arthur say he would leave without me?_

-:-

The ride to the meeting was silent and incredibly uncomfortable for both nations. Alfred, however, found the silence to be particularly strangling, especially seeing as Arthur looked _incredibly _troubled in the driver's seat next to him. His cheeks were flushed a harsh shade of pink– a look that Alfred told himself _was not cute at all_– and his knuckles were practically white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. Contrary to his appearance, Arthur was still driving the speed limit. _Of course he'd still obey the law under stress,_ Alfred thought to himself. Honestly, he really would have liked to be bugging the Brit at that very moment, but Alfred was afraid that if he said anything, he'd startle Arthur into swerving off the road to their untimely demise. So Alfred continued to fiddle with his iPhone on the surprisingly long drive to the meeting hall. Pulling up the Notes application, he took another sideways glance at Arthur. If he had to guess, he would say that England was definitely worried about something– but what? Was it the meeting? Arthur _was_ presenting something at the meeting– or, at least, he was supposed to. With the way meetings usually went among the nations, he doubted they'd get past the first sentence of the first person to present. Arthur caught Alfred's gaze for a moment, but quickly turned his eyes back to the road, his cheeks visibly flushing.

"Why are you staring at me so intently?" He asserted.

"It's not my fault that your _caterpillars_ attract the wrong kind of attention, Iggy." Alfred responded, watching with a small smile as Arthur's features turned a lovely shade of scarlet, his brow furrowing.

"Don't call me that. And they are not _caterpillars!_"

"Are you kidding? You could land a plane on those suckers!"

"It'd be an awfully small plane. Perhaps the size of your brain."

"Aw, don't be so _cold-hearted_, Iggy."

England had no retort, much to Alfred's pleasure. He returned to browsing through the random notes on his iPhone- most of them were about new TV shows broadcasting, and there were a few that his boss had written about what to say at the meetings in which he was called upon to present something. Finding the notes to be boring, he chose to put his iPhone away and stare at the scenery. America could honestly say that if you really stopped and looked around, England was a very attractive place. Sure, a lot of the buildings looked decrepit, but sometimes Alfred thought that was what gave England some of its charm. As they came closer to the meeting hall, and essentially the center of London, he noted that the buildings looked newer and the people, younger. Pulling up to the meeting hall, Arthur looked at his former colony.

"Well? What are you waiting for? We're here."

Alfred snapped out of his reverie and stepped out of England's car. "I knew that! I was just distracted because your car's so old." After receiving a glare from Arthur, the two nations walked inside the building and rode the elevator to the top floor, where the meeting room was. The pair walked to the room in a stiff silence, Arthur seemingly looking at anything that _wasn't_ America. The latter, however, seemed to be glancing back and forth between England and the path ahead of them. Alfred had to wonder why the Brit was being so unnaturally quiet. Usually the two couldn't keep from bickering– and it _usually_ started with Arthur telling Alfred that he needed to watch his posture, or his weight, or less TV. All of this, Alfred ignored, of course. Still, it puzzled the American to see the Englishman so... on edge. Not only did it baffle Alfred, it downright worried him– almost more than the Brit losing his memory (however, he rationed that nothing could ever freak him out more than that- not even a _horror film._) Before Alfred knew it, the two had arrived before the grand double-doors of the main conference room. He opened the door, and motioned for Arthur to walk in.

"I can hold open a door for myself, you know," The Englishman retorted.

"Well, excuse me for trying to do a close friend a favor."

Alfred missed the light pink dusted on Arthur's cheeks as they sat in their respective seats. Soon after, the meeting began, and everything flowed as usual. Well, that would be true if things 'flowed' at all in their world meetings. 'The usual' consisted of Feliciano bugging Germany about when they were eating pasta, France molesting Spain, Romano getting _pissed_ at Spain for not noticing that he was being molested, Belarus trying to get Russia to marry her, Ukraine bawling, Latvia trembling, China complaining to Alfred about "unpaid debts, aru," Cuba mistaking Canada for America, and Hungary bashing Prussia's face in with a frying pan.

Yes. The usual at _these_ world meetings was… well, rather hectic, to put it lightly. At this particular meeting, the usual carried on for quite a while until England dodged Francis on his way to the front of the room to silence everyone. Surprisingly, they obliged quickly and gave England some of their attention.

"Well, thank you for your attention. Now," England shuffled some papers at the podium, looking nervous. "I have an announcement concerning the oil spill…" Many nations groaned at the sound of that, including America. Arthur had been making _countless_ excuses in the past few weeks to cover up for the _little to no_ help he had provided to the spill in the Gulf of Mexico. "We're doing all we can, and it's difficult. We have some of the best scientists in the world, and even their first trial failed. We just need a few more days-"

"You said you needed a few more days _a few days ago_. England, how long is this going to take?" America stood, giving England a hard glare.

"My boss said just a few more days and we'll work something out-"

"I think that's absolute bull, England! You don't really care at all! You say you have the best scientists but really that's just a lie."

"I'm not lying, Alfred, really, we're doing the best we can-"

"Then why couldn't you have planned ahead back when you were planting this rig in my front yard? Are you really that careless?"

"_Alfred F. Jones, I am __**not**__ careless!_"

"You sure seem to not care for this spill at all!"

"Are you absolutely _daft_? Do you not realize that I want to do the most I can to help you?"

"Then tell me, England, why was that paper concerning this issue labeled 'Unimportant' on your desk?"

"That was my boss! _He's_ the one restraining me!"

"Sounds kinky, mon cher." France interjected. England shot him a glare.

"_You_ stay out of this, frog."

"It was only a comment, l'Angleterre. Don't get so worked up."

"I am _not_ getting _worked up_."

"Ve~ I'm hungry. When are we going to eat?" Italy whined.

England, being the host of the meeting, sighed heavily. "Well, I suppose now is a good time for a lunch break. I expect all of you to be back within the hour."

America stormed out of the meeting room, positively fuming. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Perhaps he had been a tad irrational; after all, he only heard about half of what England said. Talking a walk to his favorite fast food eatery of all time, McDonald's, he recollected the recent events in the meeting room. _England just sounded like he was passing off the spill like it was nothing! Does he really not care? _Alfred wondered, feeling strangely hurt. He didn't know why, though, so he just brushed it off and walked into the McDonald's entrance. Getting his usual order, he planted himself at the booth in the very back of the restaurant by the window, the seat no one ever bothered to sit at. Not that Alfred knew why– that seat in particular gave you a perfect view of the outside world, say you to ok the time to look up from your food long enough. Today, Alfred kept his eyes trained on his food, and some random notebooks that were supposed to be for taking notes at meetings. He remained like this so if any nations happened to be walking past (like Germany, for example) it would seem like was actually _working_. But really, Alfred couldn't take his mind off of Arthur. Having cooled down enough to rationalize his recent behavior, he realized that he _did_ miss about half of what Arthur was saying; what if the Brit really did care, and America simply didn't hear anything? He shook his head, quickly banishing the thought from his mind. _That's impossible_. The strange hurt feeling resurfaced itself, and just like last time, America simply _did not know _why he felt that way. _I mean, this is Arthur– __**he**__ stopped caring just after the Revolution occurred._

Just at that moment, the American heard the bells ring at the door. _Probably another human or something coming in for lunch,_ he rationed, turning back to his half-eaten burger and fries.

-:-

Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples.

"He's quite oblivious, isn't he, mon cher?"

England gave a start at the sound of Francis' voice, looking at him with surprised eyes that soon turned scornful. "What the bloody hell are _you_ still doing here? Shouldn't you be getting lunch?"

"Talk to him."

"Wh-what?"

"Do you not have ears? I said talk to him. _Amerique_ is young, and doesn't understand your feelings for him."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, frog."

"Ah, don't play dumb, _Angleterre_; that is America's job." England couldn't help but give the ghost of a smile at that remark. "Everyone in the world knows your infatuation with _Amerique_."

Arthur blushed. Was it really _that_ obvious? "I-I really haven't the slightest clue what you mean-"

"Arthur." Francis gave him a serious stare, one he hadn't seen on the Frenchman in a while. "Don't play dumb with me, mon cher, I know you know what I am talking about. _Everyone_ knows how you feel for Alfred, except for, well, Alfred. You need to give him a clear picture of your feelings for him. But first, you must apologize for your boss' seemingly uncaring behavior. And make sure he listens."

England was taken back by France's words. There was no innuendo, no sexual undertones, no grabbing of his ass- was France _dying_ or something? "Y-yeah, sure." England muttered, turning and walking out the door distractedly, subconsciously heading toward Alfred's favorite eatery, McDonald's. Upon walking inside, he snapped out of whatever daze he was in and looked around, immediately spotting America sitting in a booth by a window that provided a nice view of nature. Pushing back any sort of negativity in his brain, he walked across the restaurant and sat across from him. America looked up immediately, his gaze sharpening.

"Alfred, before you say anything, I wanted to tell you that I… I'm sorry for the way my boss has been acting recently. He's been treating the oil spill like it's nothing, and I disagree with how passive–"

"Don't lie, Arthur," America snapped, glare intensifying slightly. "If you agree with your boss, I don't really care."

-:-

But he _did_ care, and that was the problem. Alfred didn't _want_ Arthur to agree with his boss. He wanted Arthur to tell him to stop being stupid and calling him out for lying when he was telling the truth. Of course, Alfred failed to acknowledge that he _had_ that feeling brewing within him– heroes never had such _hopeless _wishes, after all– and thus came off as very harsh. He watched the Brit level his intense gaze with a frown.

"I'm not lying," he stated bluntly. "I _don't_ agree with the action my boss is taking. I think the process could be going much quicker."

America's expression morphed into one of pure shock. Of all the things he was expecting Arthur to say, he was _not_ expecting_ that_.

"R-really?" He stuttered out, mentally berating himself for the falter.

He almost smiled as Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, really, you impudent git," he muttered. "For the first time in years, I actually agree with you. Don't act so surprised."

But how could he not be surprised? _England _was _agreeing_ with him on something that was highly controversial amongst even his own people! Alfred shook his head, quickly banishing the thought from his mind– surely England was lying. There was no way… it was too unlikely.

"N-no way, you're lying, there's no doubt about it."

Arthur's brow furrowed deeply in anger, and his fists clenched. "You insufferable, insensitive, proud _tosser!_" He said through clenched teeth. With that, Arthur turned on his heel and abruptly stormed out of McDonald's, brushing past a few unsuspecting customers who glared at his retreating back.

Alfred only stared, wondering what he had done wrong.


	8. Healing Wounds

**A/N:** Oh my ZEUS. It's done. The end. Finale. Holy crap on a sandwich, it's actually over. Only took me more than a year, eh? But yeah, wow, this is a huge thing for me. I think this is like, the third fanfic I've ever finished in my entire life? Milestone? XD YES. For me, it is. I just want to thank everyone who reviewed, favorited, and watched this story. Not gonna lie, it kept me going.  
And for a person who sucks at endings, I'd say this isn't so bad. Enjoy~

* * *

Arthur stormed across the grass, a firm scowl planted on his face. _I cannot believe I let myself __**follow the advice**__ of that bloody wine-bastard!_ He swore to himself. Finding himself in a park, England didn't falter his pace, not caring for the questioning looks he received from his people. The sky was overcast, and as he emerged from the park exit and down the nearest street, a downpour began, frustrating the Brit. _Fantastic… as if things couldn't get any worse, it has to start raining. _Arthur glanced around, and sped under the awning of the nearest building, which was the local theatre. The building seemed to be fairly new and very open, but Arthur felt no real need to step inside. He leaned against the brick wall, and lowered himself to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest. _I can't believe I was stupid enough to think America would realize that I was being truthful. When have I ever been truthful with him in the past? _Arthur sighed, resting his forehead on his knees.

-:-

Alfred sat, staring at his still half-eaten burger and fries. By now, the flies had started to realize there was free food available and were helping themselves. America watched the rain start outside, and his mind immediately traveled to England. _He'll be soaked! He'll probably catch something._ He shook his head. _No, no, England doesn't really care about whether or not I help him… right?_ It was a thought that had been on Alfred's mind a lot recently. For the past few days, he had allowed himself to believe that England didn't really care much, but he'd never bothered to really think about it.

_"I-I __**loved**__ you! ...L-like a brother, that is…"_

A stunning realization was forming. Thinking of the events of the past few days– the words said, how embarrassed England was when he jumped away from hugging him… maybe Alfred had the wrong view over Arthur's feelings toward him. _To think I had the impression that he didn't care. Wait a minute… did he have the same view towards me? Does he think that I don't care about him? He probably does. I have to tell him it's not true. _Alfred thought to himself, standing and heading for the door. His tray and half-eaten food items remained at his seat with the perfect view, for the flies to have a feast on.

Upon being outside, Alfred moved quickly among the Londoners scurrying around in an attempt not to get _too_ wet from the rain. All the while, he kept his eye open for any sight of England. In mere moments his motivation had dried up completely, as the rain had started falling heavier and was greatly impairing his vision. Cursing to himself, he ducked under the closest building. _Great… how will I ever find Arthur in THIS weather?_ He thought miserably. Leaning his head against the wall, figuring it'd be a while before the rain let up, he examined his surroundings. He saw a sign proclaiming that the building he was standing under, the local theatre, was presenting the musical adaptation of Green Day's _American Idiot_. Alfred smiled to himself, thinking of how much he enjoyed that CD. _So I've ducked under a theatre, huh? Not bad on my part. If I get bored I can walk in there and get a ticket to the next show or something…_ He dragged his eyes away from the ticket booth inside of the vestibule and continued looking around, his eyes catching on something that looked awfully familiar. A person, sitting against the wall, their knees curled into their chest, and their head on their knees. The blonde mop of hair was damp, but Alfred could recognize it anywhere.

"Iggy!" He called out in excitement, dashing to the other side of the awning, beaming.

Arthur looked up in confusion, and it wasn't long until Alfred pulled him into a standing position, enveloping him in a hug.

"I've been looking all over for you! It started raining really hard and I thought I'd never be able to find you, but I ducked under here for safety and here you are!" Alfred rambled.

"Wh-why were you…? G-get off of me, git!" Arthur cried, attempting to free himself from Alfred's grasp, and succeeding only after the American released him. Arthur's cheeks were tinted red, and he cleared his throat and frowned before speaking again. "What the bloody hell do you want?"

Alfred smile faltered a bit. He hadn't actually considered England's attitude toward him right now. In fact, Alfred had almost forgotten about their dispute earlier. Putting on his most heroic smile, he tried at a response.

"Well… I realized something earlier, and I wanted to ask you about it!"

England cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? You actually had a legitimate thought process? I hope it didn't hurt too much, or set off any smoke alarms."

America frowned slightly. "No, it didn't. But what I realized was something after I remember you saying… that…"

"That _what_? Out with it! I've better things to do then stand here and listen to your obscene thought process."

"Well, you didn't seem to be too keen on going anywhere a few minutes ago, sitting over here in a fetal position, basically."

Arthur's cheeks bloomed scarlet. "I was just about to get up."

"Sure you were, Iggy." Alfred waved it off. "Anyway, what I was saying was that I remembered you saying that, um… well…"

"_Well? _What did I say?"

"You said that you loved me."

England's eyes went wide, his ears matching his cheeks. "I-I _what?_"

"You said you loved me. Before the rebellion, and all."

Arthur coughed into his hand in a vain attempt to hide his blush. "R-right. Wha-what about it?"

America looked away at this, kicking the ground with his foot. _I didn't think this far… crap, I've got to think of a good reply, fast. _"I was wondering if, uh, you'd still mean it. If you said it right now."

"If I said 'I love you,' right now?"

"Y-yeah!" Alfred replied, a blush forming on his cheeks. "Right now. Would you still mean it?" He watched with a sort of worry in his eye as to what England was going to say after this. Arthur seemed to be very deep in thought, his cheeks seemly painted a permanent pink. _He looks really cute when he blushes…_ Almost lost in a trance, he nearly gave a start when England spoke again.

"What made you want to ask this?"

"Why don't you answer my question first?"

England narrowed his green eyes, turning toward the rain, cheeks flushed. "Wh-what if I would mean it?"

America averted his eyes as well. Not that he had to, of course– it wasn't as if England was looking at him, anyway. "I'd… I'd tell you that…" Alfred was having such a hard time saying this, and he couldn't figure out why. _It's not like I've never thought it before! Why is it so hard to say? I'm the hero, I can do anything! _"I'd tell you that I'd mean it too!" He blurted so quickly that it sounded like one word. He dared a glance back at England. _What is he going to say? Will he just run off? _Just then, Arthur turned to Alfred, looking directly into his eyes, as if searching for a lie, or perhaps the truth. He looked… almost sad, his emerald eyes glimmering with perhaps the beginning of tears.

"Wh-what? Did I… did I hear you correctly?" Arthur asked, seemingly swimming in Alfred's eyes.

"If you heard me say 'I'd tell you I'd mean it, too,' then yeah. You did." America reassured, smiling faintly. He watched as England opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, unsure of what to say. After a few moments, he spoke.

"You… really mean it?"

Alfred took this as a challenge to prove himself. He wrapped his arms around England, burying his face into Arthur's hair before saying softly, "I love you, Arthur. I have for… a long time."

He felt England fist the back of his jacket, a muffled, stuttering "I love you, too" barely heard over the rain, which was slowly letting up.

Alfred smiled, laughing a bit. "You should have seen me when I heard that France was the one taking care of you. It was like my damsel in distress had been taken by the evil villain."

Removing his head from Alfred's chest, Arthur looked up at him and smiled genuinely. "That must have been some sight. I pity anyone who was in your path."

"Well, no one should get in the way of a hero, anyway! But that was the past. You're saved now! And for the grand finale…" Alfred leaned down, gently pressing their lips together. England's stomach was preforming acrobatic stunts, and his eyes went wide with slight shock before he relaxed, kissing America back. It was a pure, tongueless kiss, and when America pulled away, he leaned close to England's ear and whispered, "I've been wanting to do that for a long time."

"And I've been wanting you to do that since my first memory surge."

"It's a shame I couldn't have been the one to wake you up, Sleeping Beauty."

A small smile graced Arthur's features. "At least we're going to live happily ever after now, right?"

Alfred laughed. "Of course! It's the hero's ultimate ending!" He enveloped the smaller nation into a hug, and they remained just so, both realizing they were in better spirits than they had been in months. From that moment forward, a new page had been turned in the great book of their relationship; the wounds had finally begun to heal.


End file.
